Dragons, Dungeons and Death
by Diabolikal Luna
Summary: One Shot Short AU fic where Draco has to acomplish three tasks to become a Death Eater.


**Dragons, Dungeons and Death**

**Authors Note: **I have always thought everybody has an ounce of goodness in them; the only problem is searching for it. I always did however, until I discovered Lucius Malfoy.

_He'll be here for me soon. I must admit—I'm looking forward to it. Father has been trying to get out of Azkaban for weeks, not that the time scale makes much of a difference. He says that he's going to take me on the most important trip of my life—he says that I will become a man. _

"Draco," a woman's voice echoed around the walls of a sleeping boy's room.

It was a dull, plain—boring almost—room that the sleeping boy was in. Very little showed that a human being lived in the room at all. The walls were cold and stretched for many meters. The bed was covered with one blanket and a pillow that looked flatter than paper.

The boy opened one eye and rolled on his side. He looked as if he had been up for most of the night, as his eyes were red and puffy. A lock of matted blonde hair fell in front of his watery eyes and he yawned—looking no older than seventeen.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and shuddered slightly, reaching down for the ground. He slowly pulled on a pair of crinkled genes and a T-shirt that looked older than he did—it looked clean how ever. More so than he did.

"Draco!" the same voice shouted louder.

He rolled his eyes. "Coming, mother," he shouted. "Bloody woman," he said loudly to himself.

Draco began to walk down the spiral steps from his tower room. It had always been his room and he was proud of it. It used to be full of bright and shining suits of armor, portraits of his ancestors and wardrobes made of wood and metal. Now it was bare—like most of the rest of his family's manor.

He walked down into the room that was best described as a kitchen. He sat himself down at a large oak-wood table and his mother slid a plate of beans and toast in front of him—a chipped plate and a fork were his utensils.

His nose flared. "This it?" he questioned sadly.

"For now," his mother replied. "Remember today though—today we will get all our money back," she sighed with relief. "As long as you don't mess things up for your father. God knows why he's letting you do this," with that she turned on her heel and left her son to eat on his own.

"How could I forget?" he asked himself, whilst spooning down some of the beans. "Ugh," he moaned as they scorched his throat with little taste.

He cleared the plate and turned to watch the pendulum at the bottom of the clock swing. His eyes followed its movements and the clock chimed for the eighth hour. He stirred slightly and someone placed his or her hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Father," he mumbled without turning around.

"Are you ready?" he asked without any sign of a greeting or welcome.

"I always have been," Draco replied strongly.

"Come then," his father stepped towards the large, open fireplace in the kitchen. The chair Draco had been sitting on slipped back and he stood beside his father who threw some Floo powder into the network. "Dernifa," his father said clearly, stepping into the fire and disappearing.

"Dernifa," Draco echoed his father's voice and he too, disappeared into the network.

Choking slightly, Draco managed to hold himself up firmly as he passed through to the other side. His father was ready waiting—in his hand he held a hooded-cloak, around him were four others.

"Draco Malfoy," a hoarse voice spoke from one of the hooded figures. His eye's pierced like lighting underneath it though. "I have honored you with the chance to join me—as your father did. I except that your loyalty will be as worthy as his has been," it was Voldemort who was speaking. "Before I shall completely accept you into my loyal family, you must do three things for me. The first is to fight a dragon. The second," he hissed, "is to find the dungeon of death and the third is to dispose of one, who is not worthy," he turned to face Draco. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Draco spoke in less than a whisper. "All but the last," he mumbled honestly.

"When you find the dungeon of death, your father will bring you a person who does not deserve to hold the name of magic," Voldemort answered Draco's question. "Go. Your first task is through that door," he pointed with a broken staff that he held in one hand and Draco's attention was brought to a large, library-like door.

Draco bowed. "I understand," he through the door that seemed to melt out of his way.

No sooner had he walked through the door, did a blast of heat scorch the side of his arm. Draco jumped back in panic and slid to the side—pulling his wand from his trouser line.

He swore loudly. "Back of cretin!"

The dragon took flight, which may seem strange as it was in a building but the room was so tall, Draco could hardly see the ceiling. He thought back to how the people had fought the dragons during the Triwizard Tournament—he didn't see how any of that could help him now.

Draco darted as the dragon swooped down. Its two front paws were out-stretched, ready to try and grab Draco. Then it hit him—quite literally. The dragon's huge claws smashed against his head and knocked him down to the ground, senseless. He remained there for moments, trying to control his bearings and then it occurred to him—what if the dragon couldn't move? He had always been superb at the spell he was about to use.

"Petrificus totalus," he shouted aggressively. The dragon hovered a moment or two, then its wings seized up and the large creature fell to the floor. "And they say dragons are strong," Draco noticed a second, smaller door and continued through it.

He looked around the passage for a minute, trying to make some sense of what he was to do. I was a long corridor—more than ten other doors parted from its sides. He opened the closest door to him and inside a lone picture was hung on the wall.

"Not that one," he shut the door and it sank into the ground. A loud laugh echoed as it disappeared and he flinched slightly. "That was unusual," he said loudly.

He tried each of the other doors in order. Some were empty, others had creatures locked in cages that he had never seen before. One of the rooms had even been converted into a large tank but he could not see anything inside of it that looked vaguely interesting.

He reached the last door and sighed. "It's always the last one," he mumbled—he dare not say aloud what he really thought of this task—it bored big time.

The room was small and empty. It was made completely of stone. The floors and walls were all damp and cold—Draco suddenly realised what he was about to do and he didn't like it. Hopefully it would be a muggle. Someone he didn't know and he would never have met. A chair appeared in the centre of the room. Shortly after, his father then someone that made his stomach knot.

"Congratulations," his father began. "But it is not over just yet. You understand the importance of this? Not just for you but for our family," his father began. "You know what you must do," he disappeared as fast as he had arrived.

"Hello, Granger," Draco mumbled to the girl who was now sitting on the chair. Her hair was tied back—brown and light—her eyes were brown and full of terror and she sat trembling, in shorts and T-shirt. "I said; hello, Granger," he shouted this time.

She mumbled a reply. "Whatever."

"Trying to make yourself seem calm? You know what I have to do, don't you?"

"Yes," she nodded a reply. Simple and quiet.

"Do you still think I'm filthy? A ferret? A," he stopped himself from saying the final word.

"Will it change your actions against me?" she asked slightly braver, he shook his head. "Then no, and you forgot a couple," she added.

"And that would be?" he asked, almost smiling—but something was shouting at him, telling him that he couldn't do it.

"That you're a senseless git. You let people dictate your life for you and you have no idea how to act of your own accord," her voice became unclear but Draco could make out every word of what she said. "You have no ambitions so you just follow in the footsteps of your father, who just happens to be the biggest cretin in the world, even more so than that pig, Voldemort," she shouted, her eyes full of tears.

Draco remained silent. "You said his name," he mumbled eventually.

"Why? Are you scared to?" she replied with a smile.

He ignored her. "Is that really what you think of me?" he sounded quite shocked.

"That's what I think of the name, Malfoy. In fact, I'll give you my definition," she paused. "Malfoy. Big-headed gits who think they are better than anyone else is. They murder for pleasure and they die without reason," she glared at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Harry's not going to let you get away with this," she told him. It seemed that Hermione was now in control of the situation. "You are going to kill me so that you can gain a mark that will surely end your life," she gave him time to think about what she had said. "I have friends, Draco Malfoy. Who do you have?"

He watched her, putting every word of what she had said into perspective. "I will have the most powerful wizard as my master," he argued—knowing this would not be so.

Hermione snorted. "You make one mistake with him—and it's the end of the line for you. I'm going to die anyway now—but it doesn't have to be from you," she replied.

"Stop it!" he shouted.

"Stop what?" she asked calmly.

"Manipulating me," he slapped his hand against his forehead.

"I only tell you the truth," she said.

He looked her over. The trembling girl that had been brought to him was now sitting straight and looking him straight in the eye. He really didn't want to do it. It was either himself or her though.

"Sorry, Granger," he mumbled, aiming his wand at her.

"No you're not," she sat motionless—only her lips moved.

"I really am," he argued softly and with that he whispered a spell, "Ferticlus diservus," he watched her confused face as she fizzled away. "Avada kadavara," he shouted then followed by a, "deletus," he quickly stood to the side.

Lucius once again appeared. "You disposed of the body," he said impressively. "When I killed my first I could hardly stand," Lucius Malfoy admitted to his son. "You must now come with me—for your reward."

Lucius Malfoy left the room via the door this time, Draco looked at the empty chair, the fazed image of Hermione was still in his mind—if the other Death Eaters found out what he had really done, he was dead.

"Don't worry Mudblood," he whispered before he left. "I'll come for you soon," and with his final words he left to join the other Death Eaters.


End file.
